Page 11 of Covetous

A sympathetic grimace tugs at the corners of my mouth. “Aww. Poor baby.” The words are barely out before an unexpected chuckle bubbles out from Hunter.

“Poor Yasmine or Liam?” he teases, raising an eyebrow.

My mouth twitches as I fight a smirk. “I was talking about Liam. But Yasmine too. Sure.”

“Right,” he says, his voice a mix of amusement and mock suspicion.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” My smile blooms into a picture of innocence.

The stairs creak beneath my feet as I head to Liam’s nursery. Changing his diaper doesn’t calm him; he’s still belting out cries that could wake the dead. But the moment I start singing, the magic happens. His wails dial down to soft whimpers and the occasional hiccup.

“Okay, sis. Or should I call you Jhené Aiko?” Yasmine walks in looking beautiful and refreshed in matching loungewear, with her hair wrapped in a head wrap. Her rich dark-brown skin still has that pregnancy glow despite her tired brown eyes.

“I’m flattered to be compared to one of the great vocalists of our generation.” I grin, hugging her with Liam between us. She smells amazing, a blend of citrus and sandalwood. “I missed you, Yazzy.” I tried my best to stay away while Yasmine’s best friend—and Liam’s godmother—came down from New York to visit, to give her time to bond with Liam. But it was hard. Really hard.

“Missed you too, Sky-Sky.”

Right then, Liam’s cute, adorable face turns bright red before he releases another loud, heartbreaking cry.

“It’s time for his feeding. I feel like a cow.” She settles comfortably in the rocking chair, and I hand my nephew over before sitting in the window seat adorned with stuffed animals.

“You’re a good mom.”

A smile touches her lips as gratitude flickers in her eyes. “I want to be. I’m trying.”

“You’re doing more than trying. You make it look easy.”

A wistful sigh escapes her. “It’s not, but Liam makes it worth it.” She gazes down at her son, her eyes sparkling with affection.

“I wish Mama could’ve met him.” A familiar pang of bittersweet ache resonates in my heart at mentioning our mother.

“Me too.” A shadow of sadness crosses her face, causing her smile to vanish. “But I doubt she’d be here. It’s not like she cared about me when she was alive.”

Every family has its secrets. Ours is no different, like our mom having turned to prostitution to help fund her and my dad’s drug habit.

I open my mouth, preparing to speak, but then close it when the words don’t come. I can come up with all the excuses in the world for why our mother didn’t fight Yasmine’s dad for visitation. Maybe she did but lost. Or perhaps she thought Yasmine was better off without her. I can’t speak for our mom. No one can. All I can speak about is my relationship with her. And it wasn’t great either.

But not all my memories are sad ones. There were instances of joy too, like the time she showed me the secret to her delicious sweet-potato pies. Or when we’d journey together to the liquor store, her hand swinging mine in a rhythm that felt like love. Or those rare moments when our voices would harmonize as she combed through my hair, creating a melody that felt like home. Those are the memories I choose to revisit, not the ones where she’d vanish into the dark night, leaving me and my father alone for weeks on end.

I thought it was because of me. If she hadn’t been with my dad, would she have sent me away like Niko and Yasmine? One of my parents’ many fights fed my insecurities. My father had pleaded with her to sober up—not just for my sake but also for the possibility of having another child.

“Another baby? You’ve lost your damn mind,” she fired back at him. “I’m not ready to let go of this life yet. I gave you Skylar because I felt guilty about having another man’s child while being with you. But you want more? Hell no! Looking back, I should’ve gone straight down to the abortion clinic with this one.”

“She missed out,” I say to Yasmine as I fight back tears threatening to spill over. The words hang heavy in the air around us—a bitter reminder of what could have been and what never will be.

After Liam finishes his feeding, he blissfully drifts off to sleep in his crib. Yasmine and I retire downstairs for dinner, where we’re greeted by a symphony of flavors: charred artichokes drizzled with lemon-infused olive oil, melt-in-your-mouth filet mignon cooked to rosy perfection, and butter-bathed jumbo prawns that snap between my teeth. Each bite is a testament to his Michelin-starred touch.

Once the meal concludes, we take our drinks and proceed to the deck overlooking their sprawling property. From our vantage point, we can admire the lush green lawn dotted with colorful flowers and tall trees swaying in the warm summer breeze. I find myself daydreaming about moving into one of the luxurious guest rooms just so I can enjoy Hunter’s delectable cooking on a regular basis.

“Do you and Ian want kids?” Yasmine takes a sip of her mocktail, her lips puckering at the icy sweetness.

“Definitely.” I massage my bloated tummy.

“You’re like a baby whisperer. Liam adores you.”

“And I adore him, but I don’t know about baby whisperer.” I chuckle at her coined phrase. “I do love kids, and I know Ian will be a great dad. He’s so good with his nieces and nephews.” All of Ian’s siblings are married with children, and his family has been pressuring us to try for babies soon after we get married.

“It makes things so much easier when you have a partner you can depend on. Caring for Liam would be a million times harder without Hunter.”

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